


Still Got It

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Growing Old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Elderly gentleman Killian Jones is not the devilishly handsome scoundrel he was as a young man. But he still seems to have caught the eye of a silver-haired beauty at the pub, though he's not sure why. She plans on showing him. (Old CS fic; light M)





	Still Got It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleebug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/gifts).



> a birthday present for bleebug inspired by her love of Old Hook (and what's not to love??)

There was some activity in the pub around him, but otherwise the bar was quiet—perfect for leaving an old man alone with his thoughts and memories. Granted, Killian Jones had probably had far too much of that in his life, but the solitude was fine company for another night. 

So he sipped his ale while nestled in the corner of a booth, observing the other patrons and laughing at the young men’s attempts at wooing the fairer sex. Not that he was a particularly fine example of a man, but he had been in his youth: trim, handsome, and all too aware of it. He’d taken such pride in his appearance back then, but lately had found himself wondering—where had that scoundrel gone?

“Is this seat taken?” a woman asked, and he glanced around until realizing she was talking to him; it had been quite some time since that happened. Before him stood what was surely an angel: a gorgeous woman, about his age judging by the lines on her face and the silver of her braided hair, with soft curves and an ample bosom supported by what was clearly supposed to be a peasant’s costume of a maroon corset and patchwork skirt, but the materials were too fine to belong to anyone not of high standing. He didn’t mean to leer, but he was rendered speechless not only by her appearance, but by her attention as well.

“Please; be my guest,” he finally replied, gesturing to the open booth across from him. She slid in and he continued, “Apologies for my poor form, milady, but it’s not often a beauty such as yourself seeks company with the humble likes of me.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” she observed, her green eyes sparkling as she raked them over him. “Surely a devilishly handsome gentleman such as yourself has no lack of female companionship.”

He scoffed, but took a sip of his drink to hide the blush rising on his cheeks. He was fairly positive he was far from the eye candy he once was, but if she wanted to play, he could certainly take part in the game. “I can’t say ‘never,’ but it’s been some time. I’ve a question for you, though: what, pray tell, brings a woman of your standing to a disreputable dive such as this?” 

“What makes you think I’m anything but a common bar wench?”

“You carry yourself as though you were royal. One might even say you bear a resemblance to the Queen.”

She shrugged and giggled, a girlish thing that was music to his ears. “I get that a lot.”

“As you should.” He hummed for a moment, thinking. “But that doesn’t answer my question: what are you doing here, and with a crusty old pirate like me?”

“I’m looking for some company.”

Now he truly snorted. “You’re seeking company with me? Are you sure you’re right in the head?”

“Last I checked.”

He gave her a sidelong glance—he wasn’t so sure of her sanity. After all, what woman—common, regal, or otherwise—would truly be pursuing him? He, a sailor far past his prime, in an ancient leather duster, a vest he could no longer button, and a shirt that only just fit the gut that hung over his belt. He would allow that he was still well-groomed—his gray locks and beard had been recently cleaned and trimmed, and he did still have all of his teeth. For a man of his years, he was in fairly good condition, but his years were considerable. Resignedly, he informed her, “Perhaps you’re better off with one of the younger men here, lass. I doubt I’m what you’re after.”

“Oh no, I think you are,” she said—nay, commanded, almost confirming her royal status. “I’m not looking for a quick roll in the hay with some amateur adolescent, and I hardly doubt they’d turn an eye my way as it was. I’m looking for someone with...experience.”

He stared at his drink, running his thumb along the mug’s handle as he considered her words, and the thick layer of lust dripping over that last one. He had some of that, alright, but it felt like ancient history. “And what makes you think I’ve any of that in recent years? Have you even looked at me?” There was a bit more weight to that last statement, but he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“I have,” she answered calmly, then slipped out of her booth and into the space next to him. “And I see—correct me if I’m wrong—a man who’s lived many adventures.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “Has many tales to tell.” She slid her hand up the leather toward his elbow as she scooted a bit closer. “And knows exactly what he’s doing.” She squeezed his still-firm bicep while practically whispering in his ear; her breath on his skin sent a jolt of heat right through his body, settling where she was probably hoping it would. “You’re not one of those cocky boys who’s all talk; you don’t need to say what you can do—you just do it.”

He swallowed; this vixen surely knew the effect she had on him. But she seemed unaware that he’d been on the opposite end of this game far too many times and knew all the means of outwitting his opponent. “Is that so?” he asked back, as nonchalantly as he could.

“Mhmm.”

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t know me as well as you think. Whatever stories you’ve heard, my dear, are histories, long in the past.”

She hummed. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m right, and you just don’t like being called out.”

“You’re a stubborn lass, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And just what makes you so sure that I’d want to be in such company, hm? Can’t an old man just enjoy his drink?” As if to make his point, he grabbed his drink and turned in his seat to face her, using the alcohol as a barrier.

“Because,” she started, shifting forward still and reaching for his hook, which rested on the table. “I think you like a challenge...Hook.” She rolled her shoulders back as her finger traced the curve of the metal, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

But vague memories of a conversation from years ago might help him stall. “So, you know who I am and you haven’t even told me your name yet.”

“What fun would that be?” she teased, winking.

“Just two ships passing in the night, then.”

“Passing closely, I hope.” Her free hand found his thigh and he could feel his blood traveling south; the heat of her palm through the leather of his trousers was making his heart race—and she noticed. “What’s wrong, Captain? Can’t hold your drink?”

Her light perfume and the flush of her propped-up chest were making it hard for him to come up with a witty retort (and making other things hard, as well). “‘M fine,” he stuttered out, his voice betraying him.

She was practically in his lap now. “What do you say we set sail? Come back to my place for a nightcap...or shall I find someone else?”

Her lips were millimeters from his; all he could do was mutter, “As you wish.” Then, grey smoke enveloped them, and he recognized the sensation of transportation magic taking them back to her room—which didn’t seem quite royal, but was far from spartan. They landed on her plush bed and she wasted no time in launching herself at him, her lips quickly making their way to the freckles on his neck and her delicate fingers playing with the silvery chest hair left exposed by his shirt.

She nipped her way up to his jaw and across to his mouth, kissing him with passion as she worked at the buttons on his top. His hand and hook instinctively moved to her hips, gripping and anchoring himself against her onslaught. He could feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight as their tongues danced and he was getting lost in a sensation he hadn’t felt in a while.

Once she’d finished undoing his shirt, sliding it and the rest of his garments from his shoulders, she pushed him back against the pillows and straddled his hips. She grasped his hook and placed the tip against the top of the laces of her corset and ripped down, freeing her lovely, pale breasts from what he’d once heard referred to as “boob prison”. She quickly shirked it and her tunic, tossing them somewhere across the room with a slight grind of her groin against his, releasing an involuntary groan from him, and then settled down across his torso to continue—and that’s when the illusion was finally broken.

She went in to kiss him again, but he turned away. “Apologies; a woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention...and I’m not so sure I can do that tonight, Emma.”

She sat up. “What the fuck are you talking about, Killian?” 

He followed suit, and she shifted away so he could perch on the edge of the mattress. “Look at me, Emma,” he explained, gesturing to his body. “I’m hardly the man you married. Why would you want this?”

“What the hell—of course I want you! You’re my sexy roommate and I will always want you.” 

The amount of anger in her voice was surprising; he’d learned after their many years of marriage that now was not a good time to make eye contact. So he scoffed instead, but of course, she saw right through it.

“What happened?” she demanded.

He sighed, but knew he couldn’t keep it from her. “I was down at the docks last week and some youngsters referred to me as an ‘old man.’ I initially disregarded it, but the words bounced around my head until I got home. And I looked in a mirror, and that’s what I saw: a fat, old man, little different than that alternate version of myself.”

Emma gave long, quiet sigh; he could easily identify that as the one she gave when she already knew the answer to her question.

“You knew?”

“I had an idea. You’d been acting strange the past few days, and it’s been ages since you wore a shirt to bed.”

He supposed he had been moping a bit lately; should have known she’d cotton on. “Is that why you wanted to do this tonight without the glamour?” Usually when they roleplayed, Emma flexed a bit of magic to help the illusion, but had insisted on not doing so tonight.

“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “Because you know what I see?”

“You already told me, love.”

“No.” She reached over and grabbed his hook. “I see a man who has lived a long long life, overcome so many obstacles, and is still one of the kindest and most loving people out there with a beautiful heart. I see my best friend, and the best husband and father anyone could ask for. And I see a man whose body shows all the signs of a life well-lived and well-loved.” 

Well, now he was really blushing. And he loved her for it, but she didn’t have to indulge him. “You don’t have to placate me, Emma; I can handle a bit of wounded vanity.” 

“Look at me. You know I suck at lying.” He chuckled; that was true. He finally looked up and could tell from the sincerity in her eyes and firm set of her brow that she wasn’t. “And you know what else?” 

“What?” 

The corner of her mouth ticked up, deepening the crows feet around her eyes. “I’m willing to bet that none of those assholes are getting laid tonight and you are.” 

“Oh?” 

She playfully bumped his shoulder with hers. “Multiple times, if I get my way.” 

He couldn’t help it: he grinned. This incredible woman who had somehow seen fit to give him a second chance and love him all those years ago was still at his side, reminding him of who he was and who he could be. How many people could say that after 30-some years of marriage? 

He leaned in, pausing only to tell her, “And not one of those whippersnappers could ever hope to bed anyone half as beautiful or amazing you, my love.” He found her lips in a searing kiss, just as full of emotion and passion as their first all those decades ago, and just as quick to grow heated. They adjusted their positions so she was back on top of him, and he held her close as they made out like teenagers. “You do look amazing tonight, Swan,” he panted out.

“I know. So do you.” 

“I know.”


End file.
